


made for you, in this life and many others

by prettylittledarkstar



Series: A Collection of Reylo Shorts [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, relax and enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-26 04:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12549008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittledarkstar/pseuds/prettylittledarkstar
Summary: A collection of oneshots that I've written on tumblr that are 900 words or less.--"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."





	1. What the Con?

**Author's Note:**

> I love reylo. I love them so much. I hope you enjoy these, and I will be adding more as they come. Feel free to head over to my tumblr and send me a prompt! My inbox is always open!

PROMPT: Modern AU where Kylo and Rey meet at Comic-Con?

\----

The crowd of oddly-dressed characters buzzed with excitement as they pooled around the doors, pulsing with energy and conversation and “Oh my god, I love your costume!” Kylo stood front and center at the doors leading to the main exhibition hall, arms held in front of him, poised and ready to catch anyone that slipped through the cracks in security. As head of his branch he couldn’t complain much about the pay, but Comic Con knocked the wind out of him like no concert or gala ever did. The energy, the occasional sour-faced mom who put up a fight when others called her out on trying to get ahead in line, all of it sucked his soul from his body. But it was okay. It was where he could eavesdrop on strange conversations and find the occasional cute shy girl who tried to flirt with him (unwanted but appreciated, he supposed).

The doors opened and a bustling bunch of early-risers squeezed through and headed to security, gadgets and props getting removed and tickets scanned. Squeals of excitement bounced off the walls as people were united with friends or fans or even just strangers.

The day was agonizingly slow and though Kylo stopped a few people for violating the rules, he faced no difficulty or altercation.

Until _she_ showed up with pink cheeks and wildly mussed-up hair, that is. He would have thought little of her except for the fact that she held a weapon that clearly breached guidelines, and he noticed no band adorning her wrist. He stepped away from his temporary post to approach her, but she was zipping so fast through the big corridor that he had to build up to a slow jog.

“Ma’am,” he called to the woman—or girl, rather, “Where’s your wristband?”

“My what?” Her British accent surprised him a little—he hadn’t heard a voice like that in forever (since he fired Hux for fucking with employee payroll, actually). She stopped short and whirled around, giving Kylo time to catch up to her. He came to a halt a few feet away. She was cute, but in a little girl way that showed naiveté and arrogance. Her golden-plated headband sat askew on her forehead and her chest rose and fell. Cute. But angry.

“Your wristband. All attendees carrying props must have a wristband indicating that their items were checked at the prop desk and confirmed to be within SDCC guidelines,” he recited monotonously for the hundredth time that day. Wonder Woman stared at him, flames flickering in her eyes, her reaction muddled by confusion and irritation. Could he blame her? No. She looked rather tired, exhausted even. Like someone had just sucked all of the good things out of her life.

When she made no move to respond, he spoke again.

"Your sword"—he gestured to the rather sharp, rather authentic-looking weapon in her white knuckles—"must be checked."

"Listen, Donut,” she began, leaning up on her tiptoes and squinting her eyes, "I have not had a very good day. I woke up to the water in my hotel not working, I've already had a costume malfunction _twice_ , and my ride cancelled on me. I walked thirteen blocks to get here, and I can’t deal with another jinx.”

He rolled his eyes. “Boohoo, Diana. You're at Comic Con, not starving in a third world country. Now, if you would please follow me, we can sort out a minor flaw and send you on your way."

The little spitfire clenched her fists at her side but stepped closer to him. He chuckled. _What a strange creature._


	2. yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from a word prompt: yellow

Yellow is the glint of the golden flecks in her eyes. Yellow is the fire reflecting like glass when she cries. He tells her she’s not alone. And she says it back. Warm is her hand and soft is her touch, like a frightened fox just beginning to understand that the wolf won’t eat her. Tentative, but certain. And yellow is the future he sees with her, the future he seeks with her. The firelight glow, the child’s bubbly laughter, the sunshine on her hair and the freckles on her cheeks.

Yellow is the blaze that surrounds them as he offers her a home and she chooses to be lost, chooses to fight opposite him instead of beside him. But he understands, if only minimally. Yellow is the glow on her skin when she cries like wildfire that spreads to his throat and flows out of him. But it’s okay. They’ll be alright.

Yellow is the blast that knocks them away, with streaks of white and screams of dark and light. The turmoil within him is blackened and thick like ink when he senses a panic and jumps awake to find a sickly pale general towering above him instead of her right beside him. 

Numb is how she looks when he catches sight of her one last time, and he thinks she’s almost disappointed. But if she was, she’d let him know, so he worries very little on it. Blackened and charred is his heart when she purposely shuts him out with sad eyes and a trembling hand. 

Dark is his life without her. Dark is the heaviness in his heart as he claims a throne meant for two. Short is her soft hair; long are the nights in which she won’t let him in, and sore is the ache in his chest.

Yellow are the blades of her saber when he’s an arms length away from her again. Yellow is the pale glow that illuminates her snarl and shiny are the tears that glisten in her eyes as she points a blade to his throat. Through gritted teeth, he tells her to do it. She tells him off. 

Yellow is gone when she extinguishes her blade and falls to her knees before him, a surrender so great he feels it in himself. Trembling is her mouth when she begs him to stay, begs him to run away with her. She tells him there is no General left on either side and the war is pointless when so many have died for a lost cause. Strong are the hands that grasp her shoulders and pull her to him, and this time he tells her that running away isn’t an option when entire systems have been left in a state of absolute havoc. This time, he asks again if she will join him and tells her that he never strived for the rule that the General wanted. This time, she decides that a title of power is just that–it matters more what you do than what you are called. [Empress, in her case.] This time, she takes his hand.

Yellow is the color of the flowers in her hair and yellow is the pale shine that reflects onto her skin from the sun above. Yellow is her dress, one like those she dreamed of wearing since she was a girl. Yellow is her warm laugh when he pecks her on the soft skin of her neck. Yellow is the walls of the room where they welcome a professional giggler into their family, tucking back dark curls to see a sleepy face and rosy cheeks.

Yellow is the light that sifts through the curtains and glows on her sleeping face. The sighs she makes are contented and she smiles when he tugs her closer. They are happy. They are safe. They are warm. [They are yellow.]


	3. harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word: harmony

“harmony”

Singing. He heard her singing but couldn’t see her when he opened his eyes to a hazy morning sun that peered through the cracks of the curtains. Grunting, he got out of bed and stumbled into living room to find her sketching in that tattered old notebook of hers, singing the old Hilltop Coke commercial from the 70s, humming along the different parts and then starting over when it ended.

The singing stopped and her face lit up when she noticed him standing in the doorway, watching her intently. Immediately she put her book to the side and rushed up to him, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw before pulling back. God, she was beautiful as she looked up at him with those hazel eyes and gave him the faintest smile.

“Kylo, I got breakfast.” She held up a bag and a cup of coffee from the cafe down the street. He grabbed it and kissed her head by way of thanks before they both flopped on the couch and ate. She hummed that tune again, and a blissful feeling of satisfaction washed over him.

He supposed this was his life now. And he loved the harmony.


	4. found

She felt it suffocating her. Slowly, surely. Blood stained the minuscule divots in the rock where she had tried to crawl her way out and failed, miserably, time and time again. If she hadn’t been so distracted, had seen the signs earlier–maybe she wouldn’t have found herself here: 

Sick, weak, alone. And thirsty, so thirsty. Fatigue had not hung this heavily on her since her days as a Jakku desert rat.

The Force carried no weight in dead zones such as this. In a planet of sediment and crystalline formations, one would think the Force could flow through her freely, if not easier than it would on a lively planet with so many strings tied to it. Yet sadly it was quite the opposite. Here, in these cavernous rock formations of glittering deceit, Rey found it impossible to meditate and draw in any type of energy. When she attempted to call her staff to her from where it sat above her, it trembled against the ground like a withering snake.

The Force felt distant here, uncomfortably so. When she tried focusing on the quiet hum connecting her to Kylo, she found the bond rather dull and shadowy, like a fading light in the rain. Energy that she gathered quickly snapped itself back into place, bouncing and jumping like a glitch. It felt like grabbing at what she thought was fabric and learning that it was a slippery goop that hardened when disturbed.

So she gave up any practical Jedi meditations for a more traditional Jakkuvian approach: sprawling out on the floor and relaxing every muscle until your face felt heavy. When Rey was thirteen, she had laid on the floor of her AT-AT and thought about  _nothing_  for the first time since her uproarious life as a sand rat. Not her parents, not the scrap metal, not even herself. Nothing but the nothingness mattered in that moment. 

Now, in the middle of this cave that she had lost her bearings in, she took in a deep breath of that stress and let it melt away.  

 _Careless. Irresponsible_.

Though she could not see him, his voice was enough. Her lips twitched upward ever so slightly. It seemed as though he had meditated enough to gather a thread of their connection. It was nice to hear that voice like velvet. Nice to hear  _any_  voice again.

 _Yes_ , she replied, unsure if she spoke or just thought it. She was so exhausted.

_You should have let me go. It was too dangerous for you to be alone._

_Maybe_. Truthfully, she had wanted to do this alone ever since she learned that he kept it from her. Rey managed to convince him to let her go; he never could quite resist her charms. Somehow it seemed like a curse now. 

_A two day mission turned into two weeks. We’ve tracked your land speeder to a remote cavern 500 klicks away from where you landed. Where are you, stubborn girl?_

_I don’t know._  She didn’t. She left her speeder after it had lost power and continued on foot. The planet was much larger than anticipated, and Rey ran out of water about three days ago. Then came the two crystals at the end of the curve in that cave. A crack  _just_  big enough for her to squeeze through. Or so she thought. Apparently, she hadn’t been the emaciated creature she used to be, and she stopped sliding easily when her hips met the space she lowered herself in between. And, stupidly, she shucked off her pack and her staff and left it on the ground with a quick adventure in mind. 

Not so smart when her hips came loose and she fell through to the cavern below. Only to find that she had no connection to the Force here. Nor a connection to home. The fall had peeled a layer of skin off one side of her face and left her bleeding from her knees and her arms. But she had survived, and Rey never let a few injuries stop her from finding a way out. 

This time she let exhaustion and surrender stop her.

 _I’ll find you._  He was louder this time, but he hadn’t raised his voice. She formed the hunch that he was on a ship heading towards the crystal planet. 

_I’m dead._

_Maker, Rey, you’re not dead,_ he scoffed, and she heard his projected thoughts about her being nearly as dramatic as Luke Skywalker on Crait.

 _Not yet._ Maybe she had been in worse situations, but she had always found a way out. Here she was weaponless. Defenseless. Dry. Out of --

_Hold on then._

* * *

 

Hours had passed and she didn’t sense him. The only evidence of his presence was the shouting that echoed through the cavern as he ordered his troopers around, threatening vicious punishment if they pulled her dead from a cave. She almost laughed, thinking how ridiculous he sounded as he pounded out unwarranted threats to mere workers.

From the crack between the crystals above her head, a furious head of dark hair and scowling came into view.

“Ben.”


End file.
